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Category Archives: Well Being

First written on 23rd August 2005, exactly 700 years to the day that one of the greatest freedom fighters in history was agonizingly murdered in London for his leadership over his fellow countrymen at Stirling, Scotland. This led an excellent defeat over the English army on 11th September 1297.

Although I do not believe for a minute that we the Scots are any better than anybody else on this planet, I make a reference to the ´chosen peoples´ of God by the history that has come well before me. This includes the stone of destiny. The stone is the pillow of Jacob’s ladder fame which Jewish people’s also claim as being in their history.

The innovators mentioned throughout history have been Scots by birth or descent. For such a small nation we’ve produced more than a few great human beings per head of capita, but this was more the result of Edinburgh’s tight geography and the great men of genius that lived in Edinburgh between 1775 and 1850, from which the Scottish enlightenment emerged.

With less than a month to go until we decide how we want Scotland to be governed I feel that this piece needs to be published in Scots.

The role of the past as the seed of the present

The role of the past as the seed of the present

Will There E´er Be Another?

Messiah fir yer cause

Celebrates today’s applause

For the pain ye defied

First hung til ye nearly died

Drawn slowly til ye tore

Then yer anatomy was

cooked in front of yer ain eyes

Posted and impaled aroond the land

Ti halt usurpers against England

Because ye f****d thum good

ye f****d thum braw

And was it not the son

o’ child murderin

Richard the third

That once quoted

”A man does himself good business

when he rids himself of a turd”

That turd being the land we strive

again ti hae independently recognized

They ca´ us British and share oor prize

That deep doon in the heart

O´ oor wee nation

(and our North Sea)

Is a pride so great

So f*****g terrific

We spit on the slaughter

o´ oor forefathers,

oor unborn bairns

Who died slowly an horrific

Well before Longshanks tried ti huv us

Before Athalstane ford’s saltire

or Viking warning thistles

Gie us signs o´ truth

That as God´s chosen

We’re the livin proof

Just pick up a phone ti Mr Bell

Get KO’d by Simpson

Dinnae forget ti penicillin Flemming

An’ a’ the others as well

Frae Smith ti Hume

Watt ti Higgs

Even the black heided cheviot’s doom

An´ Dolly’s mair recent eugenics boom

Nation’s are forged in the heart

An you, Braveheart

Gie us inspiration ti start

healing emancipation´s daggers

Gie us mair than just a bonnie swagger

When ye believed ye’d win Stirling´s pagger

Gave Longshanks anything but heaven

When ye battered his posse on 11/9/1297

There is nae difference ti what ye stood for

Freedom fray oppressors

The right tae our ain identity

Ye lived in the heart ye left behind

for us, one and a’ Scots and Scottish

Long live William Wallace

 

 

 

Birdman reviewNets NewJimmy and drummer

The Fringe Binge

Super inflate ego

Try n’ catch

show after show.

Don’t ye know

the fringe is in toon.

Multinational,

mostly loons,

extrovert spoons!

Gulls soar,

below them the roar,

sometimes (mostly)

the snore,

at a cacophonous

banquet ae stage

ae streets, closes

an wynds.

For me the poet

am far frae blind.

That the councils

profiteering

hus murdered,

what used ti be quite

endearing.

Ah bet the fat cats

at locals they’re sneering,

whilst this stage

can rage

pull in mair

than just wage.

An that am afraid

means nose ti tail snail

ae everything.

Trains, buses, cars

even rickshaws.

Heavily guarded by street

permit laws (wi nae flaws)

Pretty pouts from every nation

on corners, smile, laugh

and hand oot flyers.

Nae use ti me,

am this toons biggest blagger

The barmy poet,

the unknown Jagger.

The arts in Scotland,

Find it hard ti reach

oot thur hand

Ti local talents,

Performers alike.

When a schemmie asks

they reply a polite.

“Call back another time”

be honest

say it right

“Take a hike, get oan yer bike”

Suits me fine,

coz oan yer liturgy

I’ll expose yer greedy crimes,

This is the 21st Century

ma opinions arenae

and will never be soley confined!

and coz the internet-igrity

willnae be a well guarded

secret for those sitting pretty.

 

This was written when I last lived in the city, indeed Scotland, (2001) and is by no means my opinion today. I have learned a lot about the new incentives for Scottish writers as well as the lottery funds that are helping more aspiring writers and artists from all over the world who are now based in Scotland.

I include my review for the two productions I contributed to for the sake of entertaining during the Fringe Festivals of 1996 and 97. Those were fun to write produce and act in.

I might add that the International festival is a heap of sh**! unless you’re loaded of course, then you get all that crap.

 

Somewhere between Jay with Kingfishers samurai armour are you
Exotic, like many here, to be captured by sensors and eyes delight
I am trying to distinguish between you and the others
what language you chirp, caw or sing
I get close, but you stay quiet, perplexed as to what I am
and perhaps why I don’t look like the usual cyclops with zoom lens
Who ironically want to tweet about you not tweeting
as if the flickr of their imaginations can repeat the experience
of sweating under late afternoon’s tropical fragrances.
Escaping Bangkok’s traffic (although never the humidity)
under magnificent shade of this cypress meets grand oak.
I will fetch the name of that pink flowered perch you’re in
Cherry blossom is as close a match as my knowledge pairs.
I too, fancy your portrait framed there, resplendent, surreal
However, you seem to appear then vanish sometimes.
Your azure blue feathers, radiating their neon illusion
but that’s only when I try to snap you at close range
funnily enough, you’re living up to your title; Fairy bird.

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